Dev
When I wake, I'm staring at a blank white wall. I have my arm tucked under my head to serve as a pillow, since the bed I'm lying on seems to be absent of one. Gathering my thoughts, I attempt sit up, and immediately regret my decision. Pain lances through my head as I try to lift it, and I collapse back on the bed and lie still. After a few moments of taking several slow breaths, I try again. Successful this time, I straighten and lean against the wall that the bed is pushed up to. From this position, I can see the entire room.
The room itself is relatively small, with eggshell-white walls and an pale gray-colored carpet. In the corner parallel to the bed is a single window. It has no drapes, and the blinds are shut, the cracks letting in only thin lines of sunlight. Across the room is a heavy door painted a metallic gray. On the floor lies a pillow, the one that I assume belongs to this bed. "Could I have thrown it while I was sleeping?"
When I move to go to the door, something stops me. I look down at my body and find myself clothed in a pair of blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt. My feet are bare, and a bit cold now that I'm no longer under the sheets, but that isn't what catches my attention. Two things adorn my arms: on one wrist there is a thick cuff of dark, worn leather, an item that seems familiar to me, though I can't think of why; on the other there is a thin white medical band.
My chest tightens. Finding it a bit difficult to breathe, or to function in any way, I lean my head back against the wall and stare at the ceiling. "I'm in a hospital?"
Suddenly, I hear a click, and the door opens silently. A man steps into the room and pauses when he sees me. Then he smiles, turns, and shuts the door behind him. Uneasy, I straighten and keep my back against the wall, my legs up on the bed with me. Even in my nervousness, I try to look casual.
The man walks to the window, still smiling, and takes a chair that stands under the windowsill. Then, setting it down in front of me, though still a safe distance away, he sits and looks at me. "Good morning...or rather, afternoon, I should say. I didn't think we'd be seeing much of you for some time. Don't take it the wrong way, though, I'm quite happy you're awake."
I stare at the man. He seems decent enough. He has a nice smile, I think. His smile made his eyes look thinner, just slivers of hazel shadowed by dark eyelashes. His hair is a near black peppered with silver and gray and brown. A white coat is draped over his shoulders, showing up strongly against the dark plaid shirt he wears fastened up to the top two buttons. When I finish studying him, I realize he's looking at me in the same way I'd just been staring at him. He smile falters only slightly and he shakes his head before grinning.
"Sorry, I guess you don't know me." He holds out his hand. "Dr. Sherman, but you can call me Andrew."
Hesitantly, I reach out and take it. "Dr. Sherman," I reply in a polite yet bold voice. He nods in understanding before take his hand back and looking at his clipboard. "Devon Blake. But I hear you prefer being called Dev, is that correct?"
When I don't answer, he moves on. "Sixteen years old, going into your junior year of high school, good grades, no past experiences with severe illness or injury-."
"Then why am I here?" I cut in, my voice quiet but urgent enough to stop him.
He looks up at me, and his eyes, I'm surprised to see, are sincere. He lowers the clipboard and leans forward. "Dev," he says, and I try to mask the irritation I feel when he calls me by my nickname, "sometimes things go wrong, and in some cases, we can't explain them, and neither can we understand them."
He takes a deep breath. "We don't know what happened to you, what went wrong. But believe me when I say we are trying to fix it, and we think it's working. Your condition is improving."
"I think I understand that," I say, "but what caused the problem? Why do I have to stay here if I'm better? Can't I go home?"
He purses his lips and looks down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Devon. I truly am. But right now, the best thing you can do is be patient and wait for everything to fall into place. That's the least you can do for your family."
He lays a photograph on the bed, and after a moment, I reach for it. On it is a colorful shot of four people in front of a cheerful looking house. The couple in the photo is smiling and stands behind two laughing boys, the older with his arm hooked around the other's shoulders. I focus on the younger of the two, who smiles sheepishly compared to his brother's wide grin.
"Your parents, your little brother Tanner," Sherman continues, "they're counting on you to be strong for them."
I meet his eyes. "Will I be able to see them?" I ask hopefully.
He smiles. "When your condition improves, perhaps. But I don't think it will be long."
He reaches towards me, and I can't react fast enough to pull away before he gently tussles my hair. "For now, you need to keep your strength. Get some rest, Dev. I'll have a nurse bring up some lunch, and we'll talk a bit after, yes?"
With that, he stands and waits for me to lie down before walking out. I hear the click of the lock and feel a pit form in my stomach. An odd silence settles in the room. I can feel my heart beating steadily, and I try to focus on that as I shut my eyes tightly. Clutching the photo, I try to fall asleep, with no success.
Author's Note:
More drabble. At this point, I'm done questioning what pops into my head. I can only hope something more happens with this story.
~Squiggles
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